


Collusion

by tatooedlaura



Series: Interception [2]
Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 18:11:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15418695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatooedlaura/pseuds/tatooedlaura
Summary: returning the favor ...





	Collusion

Saturday and Sunday were quiet drives, testimony reviewed, tacos eaten, rest areas perimeter walked to stretch legs and waken enough to keep from dying on the next hour stretch. She could hear him pacing Sunday night but, fighting every God given instinct to cuddle him, she stayed in her room, awake just as long but horizontal and alone as opposed to by his side.

It killed her just a little but she did it.

&&&&&&&&

“What the hell!?”

Her hand went to his arm, to either keep him from throttling the attorney or help him push the fist along through the smaller, smarmy man’s nose, “Agent Mulder. I never guaranteed you’d be testifying today.”

“When I asked you if I would be testifying on Monday, you said I’d be testifying on Monday and so I took that statement to mean I’d be testifying on Monday. How the hell does Monday turn into hopefully by Tuesday but probably Wednesday?”

She knew his looks and this one would be going critical in about 4 seconds, so she squeezed, “Mulder? Come on. I don’t want you to hit this man out here in the hall.” It broke the anger for a brief flash and while the attorney looked both indignant and horrified, Scully walked him away, “200 paces, Mulder. 200 paces then you can go off on him and the entirety of the American justice system. Just hold on 200 paces.”

“I hate your 200 paces crap sometimes.”

“I hate bailing you out in cities that have a vowel. I call it even.” Moving him swiftly down the steps, across the street and into a park with benches, trees and no one for him to swing at, she stopped by a fountain that seemed to be out of order, “okay, scream now.”

But he didn’t. He simply sat on a bench and looked up at her, “I wouldn’t have hurt him too badly.”

Giving him that smile, “I might have.”

“Want to find some dinner or just go back to the hotel and order something unhealthy?”

“How about hotel and semi-healthy? Maybe vegetables on the pizza and a salad with light dressing?”

Already beaten down from a day of sitting and doing nothing, the thought of junk food and Scully sitting on his bed watching shit TV made him about as happy as he could be at the present moment, “want me to drive?”

“As long as you don’t run anyone over, yes, please.”

&&&&&&&&&&

His pacing again. His pacing was going to leave a worn path in the already threadbare carpet.

But she left him alone.

&&&&&&&&&&

“Son of a bitch! Are you kidding me?” He’d finally gotten to say his piece, but Scully had been put on the backburner an extra day, “what the hell is this? She needs 20 minutes. 20 damn minutes and you could call the case over. What are you doing?”

“Agent Mulder,” standing a few feet back from him, noticeably out of reach of Mulder’s long arms, “these cases are a living thing. They change, evolve, and you have to move with them, not fight against the current.”

Mulder walked away, pulling an anger building Scully behind him, mumbling, “fuck living things and new age river fucking analogies. He’s just an asshole.”

Scully couldn’t agree more. She would however, have to make sure he didn’t swear any louder until they got to the car.

&&&&&&&&&

She was on that stand for five hours. Five hours, 22 minutes. By hour two, he could see her starting to shift, her muscles begin to stiffen, her neck held at an angle which told him she would be needing a fair amount of Ibuprofen once she was done for the day.

Hour four showed him rolling neck, inconspicuous arm stretching, back arching. He felt worse for her with every passing second.

By hour five, without a break, obnoxiously enough, he could see those muscles in her jaw clenched so tightly, they bunched by her ears, neck veins pulsing, smile gone hours before, replaced with tight-lipped ‘I hate everyone in the damn world’ expression that he knew well.

She would be needing more than just a few pills.

When the session was adjourned for the day, she walked politely towards him, took his hand without slowing down, moved them to the car, let him drive her to the hotel in silence then, and only then, when the room’s solid door was shut tight against the world, did she let herself crack wide open, allowing two minutes of frustration driven tears before beating the mattress to hell with her balled fists.

Mulder stood quietly by and took it all in, knowing she had stages, this being equivalent to his pacing at all hours of the night and his out and out swearing to the sky in semi-creative ways.

Then she stilled, hands relaxed, tears brushed away, “can you please go find me three Ibuprofen? They’re in the front of my …”

He stopped her, already on the move, “I know where they are. Go get some water.”

Drugs taken, she looked at him, sheepishness evident, “sorry about that.”

“Better in front of me than the judge or that jackass attorney.”

“Very true.” Rolling her neck, “if those pills don’t work, I’m not getting any sleep tonight.”

“Then I’ll sit up with you and we’ll be angry at the world together in the dark.”

Finally giving him what could be construed as a smile in some parts of the world, she turned towards their door, “you go change and I’ll go change and I’ll meet you back here to decide what’s for dinner.”

“Pajamas or jeans?”

“Surprise me.”

He surprised her with sweatpants and a t-shirt, gym shoes in hand, “versatility for dinner. As long as we don’t eat someplace all fancied up, I’m good to go.”

Scully was already in her threadbare Fraggle Rock shirt and flannel pants, “my attire is limiting us to diners and takeout.”

He’d return to the Fraggle Rock shirt later on, “I’ll carryout diner it for us if that’s okay?” Once she nodded, “pancakes or waffles?”

“Waffles and bacon with a cupcake if available.”

“Pickles on the side.”

“Ooh, yes, please.”

He continued to smile as he drove down the street.

&&&&&&&&&&&

In his room, three hours later, a big, whopping 8:45pm showed on the clock and their game of modified Scrabble, no board, only tiles, came to a halt when Mulder went to the bathroom. Coming back in the room a minute later, he saw her, back to him, rubbing her neck, fingers digging into muscle, knuckles white with pressure.

Hell, he was losing anyways by a lot and didn’t mind leaving the game alone for a few. Brushing her hands away, “let me try. I’ve got more muscle-y thumbs than you do.”

“Is muscle-y thumbs a selling point?”

“Tell me in five minutes.”

It only took two before her head began wobbling, falling forward, “total selling point.”

He laughed above her and continued, “you have knots on your knots, woman. Good God.”

“Courtrooms do that to me.”

“I’m inclined to not let you go back in tomorrow then or else maybe I should just get up there and do this while you’re talking.”

“I think that would tarnish my credibility slightly.”

Kneading away, “probably but would you care?”

“Not right now, I don’t.”

Their conversation from a few days prior crystal clear in his head, he kept his hands respectably above the edge of her stretched out collar, never venturing further, working magic on a 4 by 8-inch space. He could feel the tension smoothing away and continued until he figured any longer would be pushing it.

Removing hands, he heard her mumble something and leaning over, “what?”

“Don’t stop. It hurts all the way down my spine.”

“Want me to go further then?”

She remembered the conversation just as well, “yes, please.”

“Then turn the chair around so you can lean on the back. I can reach better that way.”

Shifting accordingly, soon his hands were massaging from hairline to flannel line, from sides to center, grinding knuckles into particularly hard muscles until she hummed in pleasured pain as the knot broke. Keeping focus on task, he congratulated himself on platonic thoughts and the periodic table, not thinking of smooth skin and warm flesh once.

Well, at least once, hence the periodic table runthrough.

Twice.

Shit.

Then she did it.

She reached around, him on his knees by now, working her lower back, and touched his fingers, “thank you.”

Freezing in place, “you want me to stop?”

And with filter loose, “never.”

So, he didn’t.

And she didn’t stop him either.

In fact, she lifted her shirt off her back, bunching material in her hands around her neck, leaving her front covered but exposing all that tempting pale skin to his sun-browned hands, unbroken by bra strap, which he’d known she wasn’t wearing but now he knew, KNEW, she wasn’t wearing, “I think I’m getting rub burn though. Is this okay?”

Neither one was stupid but they both played it now, “sure.”

And he touched her.

Felt ribs and spine like he never had before. Ran fingers over tattoo and various scars in an intimate slide he hadn’t thought possible.

She wasn’t helping by unconsciously shivering, tiny goosebumps rising everywhere, hairs standing on end, “are you cold?”

“Nope.”

It was the slightly higher-toned answer that made him smile and freak out at the same time.

She was just as much a mess about this as he was.

“You’ve got goosebumps though.” He was going to burn in hell for this, “maybe you should put your shirt back down.”

“No … I’m fine.”

That fine was the best fine he’d ever heard her say and returning to job at hand, literally, he swallowed hard, once, then twice, “are we playing with that line again?”

Still high-toned, octave catching, “you tell me.”

He met his thumbs on her spine, spanned her back with his hands, let his fingers reach as far as possible around her sides, long curving towards her front, pressing in slightly, “it’s just a massage, right? Just working out the kinks of a long day modified Scrabble does not seem to be conquering.”

“Sometimes you need to abandon the game for something better.”

Holy shit, that could be taken in a myriad of ways and his brain went to absolutely all of them in under half a second, “are we abandoning the game?”

“I would like to. At least for tonight.”

All the while, his hands were still kneading muscles, sliding up, sliding down, “can we do that? Abandon something just for a night?”

Scully’s head twisted sideways, not seeing him, even in peripheral but voice clearing her shoulder, whispered fear reaching his ears, “I don’t know.”

Leaning towards her, hands moving to her thighs, chest against her back, chin on her shoulder, “neither do I.”

“Then I should go to bed, shouldn’t I?”

“I don’t want you to, though.” Hands sliding forward to her knees, he brought them back, thumbs tempting the valley of flannel thighs four inches from flaming warmth, “I want you to stay here, let me stay here,” hands pressing down, venturing no further but asking for the invitation, “we can turn off the lights, lay down, sleep, just sleep but you and me and us over there on that motel issue mattress with its lumps and creaks, under covers and next to each other.”

9:15 and she had no willpower left to fight with, body craving things she hadn’t had in years, simple things like a partner to warm the sheets and someone to reach for in the dead of night, “okay.”

“Okay?”

Moving to stand, she dislodged his hands, “okay.”


End file.
